


How to Steal a Book (and still be invited back for tea)

by SleepySelfLoathing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema and Madame Tracy deserved better, And I'm still salty about it, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Multi, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Relationship Advice, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Snake is a valid form of gender presentation, Tea Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 19:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20569391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepySelfLoathing/pseuds/SleepySelfLoathing
Summary: Anathema wasn’t sure how she ended up having tea with a former jezebel and an angel, but considering her life up until this point, it’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to her.(Or, that one time Crowley actually gave decent advice and Anathema accidentally founded a witch's coven).





	How to Steal a Book (and still be invited back for tea)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Shadwell hate blog.
> 
> Madame Tracy pegs and anyone who disagrees is a coward and a fool.

Anathema wasn’t sure how she ended up having tea with a former jezebel and an angel, but considering her life up until this point, it’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to her.

It started one fall afternoon when Anathema had come down from her bedroom and found a blonde woman in her kitchen making Newt a cup of tea. Marjorie Potts (“Tracy is fine, love, I haven’t been Marjorie in a long time”) had apparently pseudo-adopted Newt sometime before the not-pocalypse and had become a weekly fixture at Jasmine Cottage thereafter.

Anathema was already hungry for more adults to connect with in Tadfield (the Them might be fun to hang out with, but they were still _kids_), and Madame Tracy offered an opportunity for companionship that Anathema couldn’t pass up. A few Newt-less lunches later and Anathema was satisfied that she’d nailed this adult friendship thing harder than a home carpentry project.

So when Madame Tracy asked if she could invite one of her friends to a tea party at Jasmine Cottage, Anathema thought it was a chance to expand her social circle even more. She was expecting another older woman, maybe someone middle aged. If Anathema was lucky, they might even be interested in witchy things, or at least conspiracy theories.

Anathema didn’t expect one of the people who ran over her bicycle to show up instead, wearing a sundress, white gloves, and a straw hat with a pink ribbon.

But it’s what she got regardless.

\--

Anathema would spend the first few minutes of the tea party learning several things over a very brief time span.

One, that Aziraphale had a name, thank you very much, and did not like having it mispronounced. Two, Aziraphale was currently a woman, so if Anathema could kindly address her correctly that would be greatly appreciated, dear. Three, Aziraphale was an angel, like, an actual, biblical angel, and had made a table with a lacey tablecloth and blue umbrella just straight up _materialise_ in Anathema’s backyard to prove it.

Anathema felt that Aziraphale should have led with that third point, but was too stunned by the spontaneous appearance of the table to comment.

The new table was the perfect size for three ladies to sit at, with enough room for a full tea tray and plate of cookies Anathema hadn’t brought herself. It was the ideal setting for a tea party, complete with gorgeous spring weather, the sun warm and not a cloud in the sky. It was obscene in its perfection.

Anathema found herself a bit thrown by the whole situation, but neither of her guests felt the same way.

“Really, dear girl, you deserve something of a break, and maybe a little pampering. Perhaps I might invite you out for a manicure sometime?” Aziraphale said, sipping from a china teacup Anathema was sure used to be a mug.

“Ooh, that sounds delightful! And maybe we could catch a flick at the movies too?” Madame Tracy responded while nibbling on a cookie.

Aziraphale looked vaguely affronted by the mere mention of film, but nodded anyway. “I suppose one must expand one’s horizons sometime, but I’ve no idea what we would see. There just haven’t been any cinematographic shows that managed to capture my interest for such a long time…”

By this point, Anathema had recovered enough to try and insert herself into the conversation. “What was the last thing you saw?”

“Oh, that must have been those dreadful motion pictures based on the Ian Fleming novels. Crowley forced me to watch a marathon of them some forty years back, and I’ve never been more scandalised in my life! Those poor women! And the drivel they try to pass off as a plot! Why, it’s insulting to the audience.”

Anathema could pick apart this statement with a chisel, but latched onto the one piece of information she could relate to herself.

“Is Crowley the guy who was driving the car _that night_?” Anathema said, hissing the last part through clenched teeth.

“Yes, dear girl, and I do apologise for that. Crowley can be a bit of ‘speed demon,’ as it were,” Aziraphale chuckled for no apparent reason, “I’m just glad you seem to have recovered with no lasting harm.”

Anathema didn’t quite know how to take this apology, but could at least try to use the current conversation to answer another one of her questions from that night. Namely, whether these bicycle repair people were consenting or not.

“So, um, where is your husband now? Did he drop you off?” Anathema asked as innocently as she could.

Madame Tracy leaned in, eager, and ostensibly for more tea.

Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, yes, Crowley happened to have their own business in Tadfield this fine day. Something about the Them needing a dragon to fight against the knights of the round table.”

Anathema, who had been informed by four small knights a week prior that she was now Morgan La Fay, nodded sagely. But then Aziraphale continued –

“And, ah, I hate to be a bother, but Crowley is my spouse, currently, not my husband. We got married last year.”

Madame Tracy clapped her hands. “Ooh! You managed to tie him down! Congratulations!”

“The pronoun is ‘them’ at the moment, and thank you ever so much, it’s been quite the long courtship,” Aziraphale’s smile was blurring the line between delighted and smug, and was quickly covered by her teacup.

Madame Tracy sighed, “I wish my own Mister S would pop the question. We’ve been living together for almost a year, and he doesn’t much care for romance and the like.” She stared into her cup. “He’s never bought me flowers, or chocolates, or even taken me out on a date.”

In the ensuing awkward silence, Anathema used her witchy senses, honed from lifetime of practice, to summon the most ancient and powerful advice she knew.

“Dump him.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that! I don’t mind him not being a romantic!” Madame Tracy smiled, “I know he appreciates me in his own way. Why, back when I was still working he was very supportive! He used to advertise my business by calling me a harlot in public, and he helped my seances by pounding the walls with a hammer while the guests were in.”

Anathema didn’t bother trying to conceal her disgusted look. “No offense, but he sounds like an asshole. I don’t think he was doing any of that to help you out.”

“You don’t?” Madame Tracy said, eyes wide.

“Yeah, sounds more like he was trying to embarrass or upset you.” Anathema shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know all the details, but speaking as a witch, I’m sceptical of any old guy who hunts down women like me for a career, and you’re not exactly convincing me he’s that great a partner either.”

Madame Tracy was looking distressed now, which wasn’t Anathema’s goal, so she backtracked a bit.

“What does he do for you? Now that you’re together, I mean,” she said, trying to be a bit more kind.

Madame Tracy’s long pause was not giving Anathema much hope.

“Well, he does make me tea sometimes… and he set the table two weeks ago, and I suppose there is the sex.”

Across the table, Aziraphale choked on her tea. Anathema ignored her.

“Is it at least good sex?” Anathema asked, monotone.

Madame Tracy considered this, head tilted to the side, before saying, “for a man who I’m sure was a virgin, and trust me I’ve worked with virgins, I can tell, he is very demanding. Not really experimental, either.”

“The man is quite obsessed with nipples,” Aziraphale hummed, “I can’t see him focusing on much else in an, ah, _intimate_ situation.”

“That he is,” Madame Tracy said. “But I don’t mind it, really. I’m used to focusing on my client’s needs. I was a professional before I retired, you know.”

“But that’s just it!” Anathema slapped her hand on the table, disturbing the tea tray, “He’s not a client, or, or a child! He’s supposed to be your partner! He’s supposed to treat you with respect and dignity! He’s supposed to treat you like an equal, not just someone to clean the house and fuck him!”

The table was quiet for a long, long minute. Anathema’s breathing was heavy from shouting, Madame Tracy was frozen in shocked silence, and Aziraphale was taking a prolonged sip of tea. The loud clink of her empty cup meeting the saucer sounded out like cannon fire. 

“Language, dear girl,” Aziraphale said softly, before straightening out the tea tray and turning to Madame Tracy. “Now, far be it from me to put words in Anathema’s mouth, but I do believe she is trying to get you to consider that Sergeant Shadwell might not be treating you as you ought to be treated.” Aziraphale took Madame Tracy’s hand in hers. “We only wish for you to be happy, and not have to sacrifice what you _deserve_ in order to reach that happiness.”

Madame Tracy was tearing up and it should have smudged her mascara, but Anathema saw Aziraphale snap her fingers and the black streaks rolling down her face disappeared. Anathema was impressed, but chose to focus on pushing the cookie plate closer to Madame Tracy instead.

A breeze rustled the umbrella, and things were calm.

“Isss this a life-advice ssseminar or is it a tea party? Because I invented life-advice ssseminars and I’m not keen to crash one,” a new voice cut in from somewhere under Aziraphale’s chair.

Both Anathema and Madame Tracy startled, but Aziraphale let out a pleased gasp and leaned down to reach below her. When she came back up, she had a large black-and-red snake wrapped around her arm. This was already pretty damn bizarre, and Anathema considered whipping out her bread knife to defend the other inhabitants of the table, but then the snake opened its mouth and started speaking.

“I refussse to give advice without being given tea firssst.”

Anathema gaped and Madame Tracy went pale under her makeup, but Aziraphale was apparently used to talking snakes, because she just shifted the snake to rest along her shoulders and raised her full teacup (didn’t she drink it all just a second ago?) up to the snake’s snoot.

While the snake poked its head into the teacup, Aziraphale beamed at it. “I thought you were going to spend the rest of the afternoon as a dragon, dearest. I’m so glad you could join us.”

The snake lifted its head and hissed, “the Them had to go home for sssnacks. I got bored waiting around.” Its tongue flickered out. “Though I did get to bite sssome kid named Greasy Johnson during a ssswordfight. That was fun.”

Anathema hadn’t met Greasy Johnson, and but had heard tell of his amazing tropical fish collection. She was immediately concerned. The snake must have noticed her strained expression, because it turned to her and said, “Don’t worry your head off, I’m only poisonousss when I want to be.”

“You’re venomous, dear, there’s a difference,” Aziraphale sniffed, “and oh goodness, I’ve been terribly rude not introducing you in this form, they probably don’t recognise you.” She held out a hand for the snake to rest its head on, before addressing the table. “My dear girls, this is Crowley.”

“Yo.” Crowley said, lifting their tail in greeting.

Madame Tracy had spent the last chunk of conversation clutching the edge of the tablecloth, but now returned to business as normal. She actually leaned forward to take a closer look at Crowley’s scales while cooing, “aren’t you lovely?” and the snake visibly preened.

Aziraphale put down her teacup (empty again) and picked up a cookie while saying, “We were just discussing our dear Madame Tracy’s relationship with Sergeant Shadwell. Its been a tad emotional.”

Crowley didn’t even hesitate before saying, “Dump him.”

Despite this being the exact same thing Anathema had said, it sounded remarkably less comforting coming from a snake.

Aziraphale booped Crowley on the nose. “None of that now, darling, you haven’t even heard any of the details.”

“I don’t need to know the detailsss. I’ve known Ssshadwell since the sssixties. He’s a dick. Dump Him.”

Madame Tracy looked less upset about being told to dump Shadwell the second time around, but Anathema was a witch, and witches knew better than to trust strange talking snakes, even ones that drank out of teacups. This required more interrogation.

“Wait a sec, if Aziraphale is an angel, what are you?” Anathema said, fixing Crowley with her most intense stare.

“Crowley’s a demon, dear girl, but you needn’t fear them,” Aziraphale said.

“Naw, you should totally fear me. I’m sssuper intimidating.” Crowley then proceeded to demonstrate their fearsome nature by pushing a cookie off the plate and onto the ground.

Madame Tracy looked like she was accepting the fact that she was having lunch with a demon much more gracefully than the suggestion that she was in a toxic relationship, but Anathema, who knew all about demons from both her tomes of witchcraft and _The New Aquarian_, was even more on guard. She decided to be proactive.

“What is your name, demon, and from which circle of hell do you hail?” Anathema hissed.

Aziraphale looked somewhat offended, but the snake just let out a sharp laugh. “You already know my name, book girl, and there aren’t any ringsss of hell. Dante just wanted to write a ssself-insert fanfic with his crush Vergil.”

“If you must know,” Aziraphale interjected, “Crowley was the serpent of Eden. Tempted Eve with the apple and all that.”

To say Anathema was stunned by this information was an understatement. This information hadn’t stunned Anathema, it had grabbed her by the ankles, dragged her to the edge of a cliff, spun her around like a ragdoll, and launched her into a sea of questions below. Eden was real? Eve and Adam were real? Angels and demons could get married? I mean, Anathema had seen Satan, she probably shouldn’t have been so surprised by this, but she was currently drinking tea with the creature that got humanity kicked out of paradise, and that should feel like something momentous, shouldn’t it? Anathema needed a lot more time to process this. A whole lot. And maybe a skype call with her mom.

Anathema blinked, and found that there was still a conversation happening in front of her. She tried to focus.

“Wasssn’t your hair orange? I remember it all being all wavy and cool. Now you jussst look ordinary.”

“Don’t be rude, dear. But I do admit, you’ve toned down your aesthetic a good deal. I did so enjoy wearing your dress, it was quite stylish.”

Madame Tracy was nodding along. “I have been toning it down, I guess. I was trying to match what I thought Mister S might like in a woman, but I did have to give up some of my nicest clothes…”

Anathema butted in. “Then don’t give them up. Listen,” She looked Madame Tracy right in the eyes, “If you don’t want to leave him, fine, but you should push for what you want and stop shoving yourself into a box just to make him happy. You’re your own person, and he should treat you like one. And if he can’t then he should try harder, because relationships only work if both people put in the effort!”

“Well said!” Aziraphale said with a little clap, “if he loves you, he ought to love what makes you happy and act on it. Why, to use our own experience, Crowley doesn’t much care for reading, but they’ve been gifting me with the most fascinating books for hundreds of years, long before we could safely acknowledge our feelings for each other. And in turn, I do try to stock records I know they might enjoy at the bookshop even though I don’t much care for bebop. The receiving is just as wonderful as the giving, for both of us. It’s a reciprocal kind of joy.”

Crowley looked as mortified as a snake probably could and tried to hide their face behind the teapot. “Ssstop it, angel. It’s embarrassssssing.”

“Nope!” Aziraphale grinned, then lifted Crowley up and placed a small kiss on the top of their head. This was clearly too much for the snake, who went limp and fell off Aziraphale’s shoulders.

While Aziraphale was reaching down to pick her spouse off the ground, Anathema leaned over the table and poked Madame Tracy’s shoulder. “Hey, if you get Shadwell to treat you better, you can look forward to mushy displays like that. Be as embarrassing as you want.”

Madame Tracy giggled, and as Crowley was reinstated across their wife’s shoulders, Anathema took a swig of tea, satisfied in the way that only people who give excellent advice can be.

And the rest of the afternoon passed in relative peace.

\--

The sun was starting to sink towards the horizon, blushing the sky with orange and pink. The bottomless teapot and replenishing cookies became finite, and eventually Madame Tracy said, “I should really be going. Takes a bit of time to ride to our bungalow on my scooter.”

“I’ll walk you the door,” Anathema said, pushing out her chair.

They were both silent as they walked through the cottage, but it was the kind of silence that settled itself in when everything else had already been said. It was comfortable, familiar, and friendly.

Still, by the time they reached the front gate, Anathema felt the need to say something.

“Hey, um,” Anathema started, then took a deep breath and said, “if you ever need a place to stay, or if that asshole tries to kick you out, then you can always stay here.” Anathema gave a tiny smile. “Jasmine Cottage will always be open to you.”

Madame Tracy looked at her with big, watery eyes, and then Anathema found herself wrapped up in a tight hug. Anathema returned the embrace, pulling her close.

“Thank you, Anathema. That means… that means a lot to hear.”

Madame Tracy pulled back and wiped her eyes, and Anathema felt a bit teary herself.

“Well I need to be going. Let’s have another party soon, ta!” Madame Tracy said, unlocking the gate.

“I’ll keep in touch. Stay safe out there.”

Madame Tracy gave her one last wave, then strapped on her helmet and started riding slowly down the road.

A warm breeze whistled past, and Anathema took a second to breath.

When she finally turned back to the cottage door, she found it occupied by Aziraphale, looking like some sort of benevolent great aunt, if great aunts were in the habit of carrying snakes on their shoulders.

“Well handled, dear. I feel you’re going to be an excellent head witch for this little coven.”

“Wait, what coven?” What conversation had Anathema missed?

Aziraphale blushed, wringing her hands in front of her, “oh dear, was this not a witches’ meeting? I was under the impression that it was, that’s why I wore this hat…”

While Aziraphale fretted, Anathema reviewed the events of the afternoon. It wasn’t the standard meeting of witches, but when had Anathema ever been standard? Besides, this afternoon’s tea party had felt magic, had felt _fun_, and maybe that was enough.

“… I mean, I’ve been a scholar, a monk, a soldier, and so much else, but I’ve never been a witch, and I thought, oh, that would be ever so fun, and I did almost get burned at the stake a couple of times in the sixteenth century so I have some credentials…” Aziraphale was still talking, with no sign of stopping.

“It’s fine,” Anathema said, shrugging. “I’ve never been a head witch before, but I’m willing to give it a shot.

Aziraphale’s joyous expression was blinding. Nearly literally.

“I’m so very pleased, dear! I simply cannot wait until our next meeting, I have so many different hats to wear and tomes to bring!” she gave a delighted wriggle. The snake on her shoulders looked bemused.

“Anyway, to business. Or rather, when is the next meeting? Or,” Aziraphale closed her eyes and said, “To quote my dear friend Shakespeare: ‘When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won.’” Aziraphale opened her eyes and grinned at her. “I would greatly enjoy another tea party with you, my dear girl.”

Anathema was amused, was trying not to show it, and said, “I don’t think we need to wait for a hurlyburly, maybe just a few weeks. I’m too full of cookies to do any sooner.”

“They’re _biscuits_, and if you’re to live in Britain you ought to call them as such –”

“Angel, can we get a move on? I can sssense a re-run of _Golden Girls_ is starting soon, and Bea Arthur waits for no sssnake.”

Aziraphale tapped Crowley lightly on the nose. “Hush, darling, I’m trying to be polite and… oh fiddlesticks! I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my purse inside, please excuse me for a moment.”

Anathema didn’t remember Aziraphale bringing a purse to the tea party, but before she could say this, Aziraphale had already rushed back into the house, dumping Crowley on the ground in a coiled heap.

Anathema stared at the snake on the ground. The snake stared back, unblinking.

Like hell Anathema was going to lose a staring contest with a snake.

Only suddenly the snake wasn’t snake-shaped anymore, and the transformation was so abrupt that Anathema was forced to blink several times in order to take in what had appeared before her.

Crowley was dressed like a wealthy widow who _absolutely_ had _nothing_ to do with their husband’s untimely demise, officer, I_ swear_. It was the kind of outfit Anathema would wear herself if she could stand furs, though on closer inspection, that shawl looked more like snakeskin…

Crowley slinked into her personal space before she could stop them.

“Listen up, book girl. I’ve been giving women advice since the Beginning, and you don’t have to follow it, but you should at least consider it.” Crowley poked a black fingernail into Anathema’s shoulder. “You have potential. You’re practically lousy with the stuff. And I don’t know the details of your situation with the geek-boy, Pulsifer or whatever, but he seems real plain. And plain’s fine, plain’s decent, but will plain make you happy? Will plain keep you _satisfied_?”

“How do you know about him?” Anathema whispered.

“I can see human souls, I could see your secrets if I wanted.” Crowley lowered their sunglasses, staring at her with slit eyes. “I can see your _desires_, _Anathema Device._”

Crowley laid their hand on Anathema’s shoulder, but she didn’t think to shove it off.

“You’ve only got so many years in a human life. Do you want to waste them settling for plain? It’s not like you’ve got to choose between being Agnes Nutter’s descendent or Mrs. Pulsifer. Might be better trying to find your own path at that point.”

Anathema felt the words worm into her skin, touching on feelings she hadn’t tried to voice before. It was unsettling, almost an attack, and Anathema attempted to regain control by falling back to her first impulse when she learned what Crowley was.

“You’re just trying to tempt me into doing something. You’re literally the snake that tempted Eve!”

Crowley considered this, hand on chin, then smirked.

“Here’s a secret, just for you,” Crowley said, leaning right next to her ear, “You can’t tempt people to do things they don’t want to do in the first place.” They tilted their head back just enough for Anathema to see their fanged smile. “I may have tempted Eve to eat the apple, but it was only because she was already hungry for a bite.”

They finally moved out of Anathema’s space. The smug look on Crowley’s face could give their wife a run for her money.

“The choice is yours, book girl. Don’t waste it.”

Anathema blinked. She didn’t have a response to that, not one prepared. Her first impulse was to reach for a book, for _the_ book, for Agnes’ words to tell her what to do with this information, to guide her.

But there wasn’t any book that could help her now. There was just Anathema.

Some of her thought process must have been showing on her face, because Crowley’s self-satisfied expression was only getting more annoying as the seconds passed.

Then the strange bubble of tension between the two of them popped as Aziraphale trotted out the cottage door, oblivious to the friction in the air. She caught sight of Crowley and beamed.

“Hello darling! I wasn’t expecting to see you with two legs.”

Crowley pulled their shawl up around their arms and turned away, but Anathema could see a dusting of pink creeping up their neck.

“M’just trying to do a quick temptation. No need to make a fuss.”

Aziraphale’s beaming smile turned fond. “In that case, care to return to something more comfortable?”

She held out her arm like a falconer awaiting their bird, only instead of a bird a large snake was suddenly draping itself top of her outstretched limb. Aziraphale turned to Anathema, now wearing her spouse like a scarf, and rummaged around in her purse before stepping closer (though not as close as Crowley, which Anathema appreciated).

“I do hope we’ll be meeting up again soon, as I’m afraid the two of us must be going. But!” Aziraphale reached behind Anathema’s ear, “Here’s a bit of witch’s magic for you, dear girl.”

Aziraphale pulled back her hand, which now had a coin in it. She brandished her prize, looking pleased fit to bursting.

Anathema had never seen a snake roll its eyes, but today was a day of firsts, it seemed.

“Well, that sure was… magic,” Anathema said.

Aziraphale was (quite literally) glowing with pride, then dimmed it down a bit before saying, “Well, as delightful as this has been, now we must bid you adieu. I very much look forward to our next coven meeting! Toodle-pip!”

And Aziraphale and Crowley left, trotting off down the lane towards a car that definitely hadn’t been there a minute ago.

Anathema stared after them as they drove off, lingering in the front yard, and considered the whole of the afternoon in its entirety before turning on her heel and marching back into the cottage.

She was going to make some lemonade. It was best to have something to sip on when thinking, after all.

\--

Later when she went upstairs to prepare for bed, she would find her singed copy of “The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch” missing. In its place she found a single pink macaron. Anathema wasn’t sure if she was more pissed off by the fact that her book was stolen or the fact that Aziraphale apparently thought a macaron was fair payment.

Oh well. It was something to bring up at the next coven meeting at least.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been out to high tea twice this summer, and am now haunted by the memories of scones I can't have. My life is a tragedy.
> 
> As always, thank you to my dad for proof reading, and an extra special thank you to everyone who's read and liked my other fics. You guys are the reason I keep writing. 
> 
> As always, comments are adored and wanted, just like those scones I can't forget.


End file.
